


junkyard of the soul

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [32]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Cultural Appropriation, Cultural Differences, East Beforan Culture, F/F, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damara Megido reflects on her life. </p><p>Takes place after "those are silver, these are gold".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. trapanese

**== >Present Damara: Be Past Damara **

“She is a total wannabe.” they snicker in Japanese. “Complete _Trapanese._ ”

The other girl grins, “Who does she thinks she is? Some sort of _sukeban_?”

 _You’re the wannabes. You’re just parroting human culture,_ you think. They talk about you in front of you because they think you don’t understand. East Beforan is not that different from Japanese, like Nehetalian and Ancient Latin. You can understand them but they cannot understand you as East Beforan mashes Old Alternian with native terms.

The two girls are redbloods like you, but they consider you ‘burgundy’ and themselves ‘cardinal’ and ‘rosewood’. They are Neo Japanese immigrants; there’s been an influx of Neo Japanese families looking for work in the economic slowdown of the homeland.

You are Damara Megido, 17 years old, a junior at Momary Ossten High School. You look forward to graduating, upon which you’ll go to the shrine in East New Jack and become devoted to your god. You leave the locker room to go to your favorite spot, the woodsy area behind the school building where you can smoke and get a quick high off your new invention, paint thinner in a plastic bag. Rufioh is there sitting in a tree. No one goes after Rufioh for being a “wannabe” and “Trapanese”. He’s too popular and handsome though he’s just a big dork with wings.

“It’s not their fault, doll…” Rufioh sighs, sharing blunts with you. “East Beforus is a myth to the modern world. Maybe you could try and explain it to them? Instead of… you know… burning cigarette holes in their things and kicking the shit out of them? You almost got expelled for what you did to Mizuno.”

Mizuno. Another rustblood who considered himself ‘scarlet red’. He was a social justice warrior like Kankri; he said you were misappropriating New Japanese culture by speaking Japanese, eating your lunch from a bento, and wearing your long skirt sailor suit. He said that you were acting ‘exotic’ to get attention and offending the actual New Japanese. You beat him over the head with your school bag until the teachers pulled you off of him. You think Rufioh pulled strings with the student board not to get you expelled. Everyone was _so fond_ of Rufioh, and Rufioh and you were… friends now, of a sort. You had been his on-again off-again girlfriend in the past. Now you’re just the hanger-on that won’t go away.

“You have to learn to talk to people, Damara.” Rufioh says, “To someone who doesn’t know about East Beforus, they _would_ think its cultural misappropriation.”

“Their definition of ‘cultural misappropriation’ is too vague and broad to mean anything helpful.” You growl in East Beforan, “They just want to point fingers and then they get upset when you don’t agree. Am I supposed to just roll over for Kankri and his group of assholes?”

“That’s not what I’m saying…” Rufioh sighs. “Those guys have a huge martyr complex. Attacking them is just proving that you’re even more wrong. You could have explained to Mizuno that on East Beforus they didn’t have bento but dried foodstuff carrier boxes. It was what a troll carried when they left their lusus and traveled to the East Capital Estuary upon adulthood. You could have told Mizuno that your sailor uniforms are the clothes that these trolls would wear upon leaving home. All those things are symbols of adolescence for East Beforans. You’re just keeping the forgotten traditions of your ancestors alive.”

You scowl. “They won’t listen. Once you are damned by them, they shut their ears. They are only listening to you because they want to get in your pants.”

“I don’t even get that.” Rufioh grumbles, “All I do is throw footballs really fast and I get a lot of praise for doing just that.”

“That and selling great weed.” you grin.

“That too.” Rufioh chuckles.

The pep talk keeps the peace for roughly a week. There’s another incident during physical education. You’re praising Rufioh for having good aim during tennis practice. You’re not comfortable with New Alternian or English, so you interchange in East Beforan Alternian. Hideki is next to you, partnered up with Mizuno. Hideki is another New Japanese immigrant who isn’t a rustblood but ‘terracotta’.

“Oh that’s really cute.” Hideki sneers, “Calling Rufioh _Rufi_ - _tan_ and Horuss _Horu_ - _tan_. Gods, you’re a fucking poser! You say you’re from ‘East Beforus’ but you’re just using Japanese baby talk! You’re fucking weaboo _Trapanese!_ Just admit!”

“I am not ‘Trapanese’! Or even Japanese!” You shout in English, “I am East Beforan! There is difference!”

“East Beforus is a stupid legend! I’m not going to tolerate some weaboo turn my culture into a joke! You’re just trailer trash with dirty red blood!”

It’s being called a dirty red by someone in the same hemocaste that throws you over the edge. You viciously beat him with your tennis racket. Rufioh and Horuss both have to pull you off of him while you’re screaming East Beforan curses at him. Hideki’s eyes are both blackened, his nose broken, and you cracked a tooth. You sit in the principal’s office and when your mother arrives, she is wearing her lime and dark green cheongsam. She pays no attention to Hideki or his parents. She talks only to the principle.

“This boy has insulted my people.” Your mother’s voice has never been soothing or gentle like Meulin’s mother. It’s always low; always hissing and rattled. “We are not fiction. _We_ are rare and _we_ are scattered but _we_ exist.”

“Miss Megido,” the principle says, patiently, “that may be so, but we don’t permit the assault of students even—”

“Do you expect me to just _ignore_ this insult?” She shouts and Hideki jolts and even his father looks ready to wet himself.

After a long meeting, Hideki’s parents drop all attempts at filing legal charges, citing that it wasn’t worth suing someone poorer than them. Hideki and you write formal letters of apology to each another which are posted on the school bulletin board. You write the last sentence of your essay in East Beforan, which you tell the principle is a proverb about unity. It actually says, “One day, I will kill you all and cum on your corpses”. None of the New Japanese notice. To them, East Beforan sounds and reads like confused halted Japanese intermixed with baby-talk using archaic honorifics like _ue_ and _no kimi_ incorrectly.

“They know nothing of East Beforus,” Your mother hisses as she snaps a chicken’s neck. Revenge is in her eyes. “We wicked rustbloods are underneath everyone else. Everyone is _ue_ to us.”

You are your mother’s errand girl for her rituals. She has no one else. Mituna stopped coming home when he turned sixteen, spending all his time with Latula and Kurloz now. It doesn’t matter because all your mother needs is you, her witch’s apprentice. You rise at midnight and go to the old Manor where your father was murdered. In the basement, she marks the pictures of Hideki’s family and other New Japanese with the symbols of the Prince of Pitch and Lies, the Princess of Emptiness of Hate, The Eldritch Goddess of Unending Gaze, and other lesser horrorterrors. You never suggested that your mother do this. You’re not fond of hexes, because you know the grounding power of your mother’s hex. You try not to think about it.

The rest of the school year is quiet. You have to see the counselor about having anger issues. The New Japanese still scowl and sneer at you. Junior year is chaotic for everyone else but you. Hideki gets into a car crash and loses his arm. He moves to a different part of town after that. Kankri almost throws himself off the school building and is taken home by his father never to return. Mizuno’s birth control fails with his ‘matesprit’, who is later arrested and sent to Amethyst. Horuss is accepted into the military and will immediately go abroad once he graduates. Rufioh says he will wait for him. Kurloz is arrested. Meenah spends considerably more time around Rufioh and out of a jealous fit, you start following and pestering Rufioh. The last thing you want is for them to date. It ends with a pointless fist fight between Meenah and you that ends in a tie. A month later, Meenah suddenly disappears from school and the trailer park, leaving no note and an even larger rift between Vantas Senior and Dolorosa Maryam for reasons only they know about. The blame of Meenah’s disappearance is shifted to you and you become an outcast among the outcasts.

For senior year, you are isolated from the drama and chaos. Kurloz is arrested again. Mituna and Latula start hanging around the wrong people and are exposed to mind honey. Horuss and Rufioh break up and make up again. You fall back into old habits of messaging Rufioh but after two months there’s no change in your relationship. He’s dedicated to that pathetic joke of a matespritship he has with Horuss. You are forgotten in the insanity brewed by hormones and the stress of near adulthood. No one notices that you graduate with a B average, which isn’t bad for someone who didn’t care about school. No drugs. No alcohol. You didn’t even attend any wild parties because you were never invited.

You already have your life planned out. Graduation, then priesthood, and woodsy isolation while being ignored by everyone else.


	2. the heart of the machine

**== >Past Damara: Be present Damara **

“I’m here!”

“Oh thank goodness, Nepeta. I’m so sorry you had to come here on such short notice but Eridan wasn’t feeling well.”

“Is he okay?”

“I think it’s just stomach pains combined with exhaustion. He was almost up all night worrying about Damara.”

You sit in the loungeblock, watching All-Star Celebrity Landscapers where C-list celebrities try to renovate homes. Its mindless television but you have to do something to numb your thinkpan around the jadeblood. The jadeblood is talking to the oliveblood, Kurloz’s daughter. You’ve never spoken to her. It takes you a minute to recall her name: Nepeta. There’s a slight bump on her stomach, showing her pregnancy. She has no flush so it must be the clown’s.

The jadeblood thanks her over and over again for watching you as she hurries out of the trailer. She says she has to go to work but you think she just wants to get away from you. The oliveblood walks over to you, smiling. She’s got a sketch and pencil case with her so she’ll have something to do while you sit here, pondering your life and why you’re being prevented from ending it.

“Um, hey… Aradia’s Mom, or should I call you Damara or Miss Megido?” Nepeta asks. You don’t respond because you don’t care. “Can you understand me? Kanaya said you understand English but I’m not sure since Eridan and you speak Old Alternian. I don’t know what though.”

You are still silent. Nepeta shrugs and sits next to you. She opens her sketchbook and sits on the couch next to you. “Are you hungry?”

You shake your head. You haven’t eaten anything and you have no interest in doing so.

“I’m sorry Aradia isn’t here. You two don’t really get along though...”

Aradia is in the process of packing up her things and prefers to spend most of her time with her sweaty blueblood. She’d rather have an impacted fang than talk to you. It’s not like you haven’t made it that way because you hoped she would give you the same mercy Cronus did for Dualscar. You doubt that will ever happen now; Aradia is too far removed from the old ways. When you don’t respond, Nepeta falls into silence and starts drawing. Her sketches are done with cheap bulky black marker. Large eyed abominations with pointy faces, wobbling heftsacks, and questionable proportions.

It reminds you of your high school scribbles. You can’t tolerate it and you huff, in broken English, “Stop drawing. Anime.”

Nepeta looks at you. “What?”

“Anime. Trollanime. Stop drawing it. Copying it.”

She stares at you and you roll your eyes. You take the sketchpad and look at the pencil case. “You not have pencil?”

“Yeah, but not a good one.” Nepeta hands you a standard 2B.

You take the pencil. The lead is cheap but it will do for a quick sketch. Your muscle memory is slow but you work through it and quickly draw Nepeta’s head in proper proportion to her face. It’s not your best work but it will do for an example.

You hold it up. “ _Anatomy_! Real. Anatomy.” You hand the sketchpad back to Nepeta, “Learn it.”

“Wow. This looks just like me!” Nepeta smiles, “I didn’t know you could draw. Where did you learn? At school?”

“Shrine.” You say, “Visions not written always. Draw what words cannot say.”

“I looked up anatomy tutorials but they seemed really hard.” she says, “All that muscle structure and bones made my head spin. It was hard enough learning about it in biology.”

 _“Important…”_ you insist. “Why draw like idiot? You can be. _Good_. If you try.”

Nepeta’s eyes widen. “Really…?” She smiles. “Will you teach me?”

You frown. “Why?”

“Why not? You’re not doing anything. I’m not doing anything.”

She has a point. You look through the sketchpad, hoping to discourage yourself as this being a waste of time, but the oliveblood has _some_ potential. She understands the folds of clothes, light and shadow, and some level of facial expression (although it’s still rather stiff). You hand the sketchpad and pencil back to her.

“We start with skull. Come.”

You bring her to your sacred room that you always kept locked until now. What is the point? No one will take up your legacy after you are gone. Aradia has no interest in the old ways, and you won’t have another child. Nepeta follows you, and she grimaces when you show her your divining skull.

“You must draw from life.” You sit at a low table and place the skull on it, fondly stroking the preserved horns. “You work with this.”

“Uh,” she manages.

You answer the question before she forms it, “It is real.”

“Who—” she mutters. 

“My mother.”

“How—”

“I culled her. As she willed it.”

“Oh.” Nepeta uneasily sits on the other side of the table “To be honest, I thought you’d be the type to have shrunken heads.”

“Highbloods. Mirthful Messiahs. They do that. Not Beforans.”

“Why do they only do that?”

You roll your eyes, “Highbloods believe hair is magic. Horns and teeth are magic. Soul is in there. Make necklaces of it. To fight stronger. Be better warriors.”

“So, the police didn’t mind you doing this to your Mom?” Nepeta asks.

“Was her will.” You repeat.

Your mother had been smart enough to leave a will, a long scroll written in East Beforan with blood-ink. There was no begging of forgiveness, only bluntness of what she had done and what was to be done now that she was gone. You followed every command.

“Did you… not like your Mom?”

You frown, “Ask a lot of questions. Not so much drawing.”

Nepeta starts sketching but that doesn’t keep her mouth from running. “I only ask because I think only Aranea, Rufioh, my Mom, Uncle Horuss, and Meenah liked their parents. Dad liked his Mom but not his Dad. I can’t really blame him.”

You narrow your eyes. You haven’t thought about your mother in ages. The last time you saw her she was trying to cut your throat. “Normal. For East Beforus.”

“Was East Beforus different from the Empire?”

Yes and no, is what you could say and then launch into a dialogue about all the intricacies of the differences between Imperial Alternian culture and the subcultures of East Beforus from the city-dwellers of the East Capital Estuary to the industrious fishers of Side Harbor, fashionable Bitter Dale, or the farmers of Large Slope Bay. You could tell her how the East Beforans were native rusts, bronzes, and golds who settled the land, driving off cholerbears. But you can’t tell her because your English is too poor and she doesn’t understand East Beforan or Old Alternian, so you just shake your head. “Too much to say. Not enough words.”   

“Why don’t you learn English?” you ask.

“Know English.”

Nepeta smirks, “ _Better_ English, I mean.”

“Why? No one talk me now. No point.”

Nepeta smiles. “I want to talk to you.”

“You not here for me.” You wave your hands dismissively. “You here because I try to make _jigai._ You grubsitter. You nobody to me.”

“You’re not big in the friends department.” Nepeta says. You don’t flinch; it’s the truth. “Is there some rule saying you can’t make more?”

“No need.”

“No need in making more friends or no need or having more?” You don’t respond and she holds up a crude sketch of the skull. “How does this look?”

“Shading need work.” You respond.

She’ll have to earn praise if she wants it. You spend your time coaching her, teaching her the parts of the skull and how to make the horns look porous and brittle. She doesn’t have the proper tools like you had so you use a paper towel for smudging the lead. Her knuckles are blackened with graphite but the skull looks better and far more realistic than any of her trollanime scribbles.

Nepeta smiles at the sketch. “This looks great! Thanks for teaching me.”

You nod. “Don’t copy trollanime. Learn anatomy. Learn angles. Study art. Develop own thing.”

“I don’t know about you but I’m starving. We should make lunch.” Nepeta stands and walks to the door, “How come you never became an art teacher? There’s plenty of people who’d want to learn to draw.”

“Not my thing.” you say.

Art had just been something to whittle the time away. You’d never be able to earn a living off of it; not with the money you get from stripping and your clients. Nepeta goes into the culinaryblock but there’s not very much food left. You haven’t had any interest in shopping, so for lunch you have bowls of Orphaner Chocula.

“Damara, you have to eat something.” Nepeta says when she notices you’re not eating your sugary grains. You don’t respond and continue to stare at the bowl. It used to be your favorite cereal; now it may as well be stale Capteral Crunch. “How come you don’t dress like an East Beforan either?”

You stare at her.

“I’ve seen you in Mom’s school albums,” she says, “You wore a sailor suit. Isn’t that East Beforan?”

“I didn’t wear it. In senior year.” you say.

“Why?”

You frown. “Was tired of fighting. New Japanese.”

“They didn’t like you?”

“Thought I was mocking them. Got tired of it.” That and you wouldn’t be able to graduate with so many strikes on your record.

“Your hair used to be longer too.”

“I cut it. After I culled mother.”

“Why did you do it? You looked nice with long hair.”

“Was no point.” You stir the cereal, “Mother was East Beforan. I am not. Half-breed. All I know of East Beforus. Are stories. I have never seen. Will never see it. No point in pretending.”

“But you still have the clothes. Eridan said you were all dressed when you…” She stops talking and you see her cheeks turn olive.

“I wanted to die. An East Beforan.” You shut your eyes, “I am only one left. Aradia is Canzian.”

Aradia may as well be Canzian now. She doesn’t speak East Beforan or have an interest in its culture. You had always thought you would die in a battle between Aradia and you but no; a pathetic egg seller who believed the lies of a criminal should die alone and miserable.

“There _have_ to be other East Beforans,” Nepeta says, “or descendants of East Beforans that still practice the old ways. Why not put out a notice? A lot of human cultures do that, like there’s the Shongolian Cultural Center downtown.”

“East Beforus is. Legend.” you say, “No one believes me.”

“What if you make a group on Trollbook only in East Beforan?” you ask. “That way the only people who have access to it are those that understand what you’re saying?”

You frown. “I am not good. With people.”

“Don’t you want to know if there’s other East Beforans out there?”

You don’t respond and you don’t eat your cereal. Your stomach is growling, but you’re not interested in food. Nepeta puts your bowl in the thermal hull. You return to sitting on the couch, watching the Wayback Channel’s retro cartoons with cheap and questionable animation. Its block after block of B*dazzler, Miss Zoom and the Midnight Foxes, and so on.

Eridan walks through the door while Nepeta is turning a boxy sketch into a muscular chest and shoulders. He smiles. “Sorry I couldn’t come earlier. Sol made me lay down.”

Nepeta grins. “It’s actually going good. Damara’s teaching me anatomy.”

Eridan smirks, “Oh really now?”

“I’m not.” you say.

Nepeta holds up the sketches she’s made so far, “I’ve gotten a lot better just from today!”

“Sounds like you got yourself a _kohai_ to your _senpai._ ” Eridan snickers.

“ _No_.” you say, glaring at him.

“Thank you for filling in, Nep.” Eridan says, “Aradia is doing double-shifts at Shop Rite since she wants to get coverage for her parental leave.”

Eridan thanks Nepeta one last time before she leaves. He sits next to you, grinning. “Looks like you finally made a friend.” he says in Old Alternian.

He’s wearing a light purple sweater dress and purple stockings with matching boots. You snicker and respond in Old Alternian, “What brought on this…interesting fashion choice? Did you lose a bet to the jadeblood?”

“She’s my matesprit. We’re dating.” Eridan huffs.

That makes you laugh. “You and a jadeblood? You’re _male_. Jadebloods only go after females for flush.”

Eridan frowns. “That’s a stereotype. Kanaya doesn’t like the label ‘lesbian’ or ‘homosexual’ because it’s too rigid for her. She’s attracted to femininity and femininity doesn’t equal ‘female’. There are plenty of feminine men.”

“Like you and you with your skirts and pigtails? Are you an honorary ‘female’ then?”

“I’ve never cared about gender. I’m just me, and that’s all that matters.” Eridan folds his arms, huffing. “How are you feeling? Nepeta told me you’re not eating.”

“I have no interest in eating because I have no interest in living.” you say.

“You ate yesterday so I don’t know why you’re not eating today.” Eridan sighs, “It’ll make Nepeta sad if her new art teacher wastes away.”

“I’m not her art teacher.” you growl, “I just showed her what she was doing wrong. The only reason she was here was because no one else wants to be around me. That doesn’t make us friends. Anyways, there’s a language barrier between us.”

“Why don’t you learn better English?”

“There’s no need and I don’t have the money to take classes.” You do. You just don’t want to be bothered.

“I can teach you English. It’s a little hard at first but it’s not _that_ different from Alternian.” Eridan says.

“You don’t have the patience to teach anyone anything.”

“I’m going to be working with stubborn old people so I may as well practice on you. You already know some English; you just need to learn more words and better grammar. And as your moirail, I’m not going to let you lay around all day moping. If you’re not going to _eat_ , you’re going to _learn_.”

You don’t like the determination in his eyes. The night moves on and Eridan is drilling words into your head, making you watch YouTube videos about pronunciation and grammar. Three hours into your forced ‘English lesson’ you make a cheese sandwich just to get him to shut up. Eridan has brought his own meals for the night along with prenatal vitamins.

“You never really talk about East Beforus.” Eridan says.

“There’s no point.” You eat your sandwich and watch House of Shadows. It’s your favorite soap opera and the longest running one in Canzia broadcast history. “My mother is dead. She was the last true East Beforan, and even in her time East Beforus had already collapsed and its people dispersed.”

“What happened?” Eridan asks. “All the legends say East Beforus sank after a volcanic eruption, or a huge tidal wave, or maybe both.”  

“East Beforus never sank.” you say.

You tell Eridan as your mother told you: when the Condesce rose to power and dismantled the Kingdom of Beforus, the East Beforans would not acknowledge her power and would not join her growing empire. East Beforus was an isolated island so they were able to stay independent while other nations were conquered. The Condesce used the invasion of East Beforus to test a new weapon: vicious insects that ate everything in sight and spread infectious spores. She dropped the creature’s hives on two East Beforan cities, Wide Island and Long Cape. The two cities were the heart of East Beforus’s military, industry, and farming. The attack was devastating and those that survived were the young, who were located in Northern Sea Circuit. When the fear of famine just started to settle in, the Concesce’s military arrived and offered the youth of East Beforus a deal. They would be able to live on the mainland as long as they swore allegiance to her.

“One of those kits was who you would call my grandmother.” you say.

“I doubt everyone agreed to just surrendering.” Eridan says.

You shake your head. “Of course not. There were many rebellions, and more of the few East Beforans that remained were killed or enslaved. But my ancestor, even when she was a kit, was one of the smarter East Beforans and accepted her life as a servant of the Empress. She even picked out the surname of the rustblood hemocaste. _Megido_ , which uses the same Old Alternian characters for ‘Invading’ or ‘Intruding’.”

“Why pick those characters?”

You smile. “Rustbloods were not natives of Alternian mainland. They _only_ came from East Beforus. Thanks to the Mother Grub, they were able to disperse but only true Megidos held onto their culture and tradition in secret. Rustbloods passed down tales and traditions, secrets of East Beforus while the Condesce’s propaganda machine covered up its destruction.”

“But you say there’s no more East Beforans?”

“The genetics are so thinly dispersed because of the Mother Grubs. If there are East Beforans left, they have assimilated or hidden who they are for fear of being called ‘Trapanese’.”

“I could see why people make the mistake. New Japanese and East Beforan cultures are weirdly similar. Do you know why?”

You shrug. “The gods have an odd sense of humor, I suppose, but there are differences. Unlike Old Japan, East Beforus was never an independent nation. It paid obeisance to the Beforan Queen, and the leader of East Beforus was her friend, the Archduchess Taiko-hi.”

“What became of her? Was she culled by the Condesce’s military?”

“Supposedly she abdicated her position at a later point but no one’s dumb enough to believe that.” You snort, “Most East Beforan adults that saw the destruction of their home did _jigai_ and those that survived were enslaved.”

“You seem to know a lot about East Beforus; more than the History Channel ‘experts’.”

You’ve seen the bogus documentaries that can’t distinguish fact from fiction. _The Legend of East Beforus. East Beforus: Secret Star Mappers of A Lost World._ You sigh, “People want to make East Beforus seem like some mystical land of highly advanced technologies and wonders. In reality, there was nothing special about East Beforus. We tended our fields and worshipped our gods. We made hives with mud, straw, wood, and paper. East Beforus was considered to be behind the times and the Condesce disliked us because we represented the old ways. We were considered ‘backwards’ with our reproduction.”

“Backwards?”

You grin. “How do you think your grandfather and others knew what to do after their last matriorb was destroyed?” When he stares at you, you laugh, “Everyone thinks it was the jadebloods who figured things out eventually but no. East Beforans had no Mother Grub, you see. There would be a lottery and a specific troll was designated the ‘reproductive vehicle’.”

“You mean like…”

“Yes; a living bucket!” You snicker at his horrified expression. “What? You look so repulsed, Eridan! Every prefecture had a certain amount of trolls chosen in ratio to the population. Then they’d be ‘visited’, go to Great Dry River, and lay their eggs. The eggs would go to lusii who would disperse within the Northern Sea Circuit Region.”

Eridan still looks horrified. “That’s terrible though. They’d have their lives hijacked for four months and having to do… things with all those people. Why did people agree to it?”

You shrug. “It was what was done to maintain independence; for the greater good. Of course the mainland Alternian were horrified by this, like they were horrified by the practices of the South Beforus. What? Alternia was a _planet_ , Eridan, and it wasn’t always an empire. Other cultures existed; now long gone though. The West, South, and Northern Beforan nations are extinct.”  

“Wait… there was a _Northern_ Beforus too?”

“Yes,” You smile, “that is another story I won’t get into.” 


	3. maneki-neko

Sollux arrives to pick up Eridan early that morning. Aradia comes in, having spent the night with Equius again. She doesn’t talk to you, you don’t talk to her, and you honestly prefer it that way. You’ve got other things on your mind. You’ve been confined to your mobile hive this entire time and yet no one from work has called. You shouldn’t be surprised though. Aradia is too busy packing to pester you about food. All she does is occasionally check in to see if you’re not dead. You occupy the same space you did yesterday in the loungeblock. You watch more mindless TV; more Subjug Shore, Pawn Marvels, Deadliest Star… until Aradia opens the door. You didn’t even hear the knock. After a while you just tune everything out.

Nepeta walks in and shows you a pencil sketch of a rustblood wearing a tattered sailor suit and brandishing a sword. You squint at the picture and look at Nepeta. “What’s this?”

“It’s you! Or someone I drew based off of you.” Nepeta says. “Mom showed me a picture of you back in high school, so I drew this. I really liked your uniform, so I came up with an idea for a girl who fights monsters.”

You take the sketchpad and frown at the drawing. “Hair not this long. Legs too skinny. Arms too long. Eyes too damn big.”

Nepeta sits next to you. “Does that matter? It’s just a style thing.”

“If you are lazy it is ‘style’.” You say, rolling your eyes, “Good artist stretch. Good artists have thousand style. Good artists stand out. Not just copy bug eyed skinny bitches all day. And katana? _Pfft_. Katana New Japanese. Katanas not East Beforan.”

“What weapons did East Beforans use then?”

“Arrow. Knife. Spear. Poison needle.”

“Poison needle? What do they look like?”

You borrow a ballpoint pen so you can quickly draw quills and then a serpentine animal with a spiny head. “Poison needle. Come from East Beforan animal. Call _kuiru-jū_   _harimogura_.”

“Oh; you mean poison _quills._ ” You nod. Nepeta rubs her chin, “Well, there’s nothing saying she can’t use poison quills to fight. They probably do more damage if I can say they’re magic or something.”

Aradia tilts her head at the sketch. “Why is she wearing a sailor suit?”

“It looks cool.” Nepeta says.

“But aren’t sailor suits something students wear? And she doesn’t look any older than fifteen.” Aradia says, “Is your character supposed to be in school?”

Nepeta frowns, “I don’t want to do a school story. High school gets shoehorned into every trollanime ever. It’s annoying. It’s the reason I didn’t like Code GEASS.” 

“But most people who read or watch that stuff are in high school. That’s why they do it.” Aradia says, “You have to find some common ground with your readers or they’ll lose interest in the story.”

“You have no imagination.” you say. “Teenager read all things. Same with adult. East Beforan all storytellers.”

“Oh like you ever told me stories.” Aradia snorts, “Your version of a bed time story was telling me about what happens when we die with pretty words.”   

“You could tell me that and maybe I’ll draw something.” Nepeta says, smiling. “I’m practice and extend my ‘range’.”

“English not so good.” You glare at Aradia and say in Old Alternian, “Do something for me for once and translate what I say for the oliveblood.”

“Why should I?” Aradia asks in Old Alternian, “You’ve done nothing but give me grief since the day I hatched.”

“You could do your progenitor one last favor before she leaves by translating.”

“You’re not _going_ anywhere!” Aradia huffs, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but you’re not going to die! Not before you meet your grandchild.”

“Why would I want to do that? What would they have to gain from me?” you snort, “We won’t even speak the same language. Are you translating or not?”

Aradia sighs, “Fine.” She says to Nepeta, in English, “You’re just lucky you’re keeping my miserable mother company or you’d owe me big for this.”

“She’s my art teacher.” Nepeta says.

“Am not.” you say in English.

You tell Nepeta about death and how the body would be left behind and your soul flown to a place that exists out of time and then your soul chained to the massive conveyor belt leading into the infernal clockwork and machinery of the Life-Death Machine. And all around the machine is the screech of the gears and churning of pistons, the hissing flow of lava. And down the conveyor belt the soul travels, into the blisteringly hot heart of the Life-Death Machine. Inside the Life-Death Machine is the court of the God of Time’s Clockworks, whose large dark eyes contain the secrets of the universe whispered to him by his matesprit. And he sits on his black throne placed on a massive discus, which contains the written history of all the creatures that have died or will ever live. And standing atop the maw of the massive machine is the Angel of Legions, who looks in all directions.

And you tell Nepeta how every undead soul is given ten minutes to plead their case to Time’s Clockworks. If you are a just and honest soul, the Life-Death Machine rewrites your existence for Heaven. But if you are an evil soul, the Life-Death Machine scratches you and that summons the Eldritch Goddess, whose abominable tendrils drag to hell. Or if the God of Time’s Clockworks thinks that is too _good_ for you, he takes your soul and with his heated hand, breaks it like glass and you are no more; erased all across the realms of paradoxspace.  

And there are other tales you tell. The complicated courtship of the Princess of Emptiness and Hate and the Prince of Pitch and Lies. The mayhem spread by Blood and Haze, the Lord of Chaos and the Mother of Monsters and Abominations. The madness of the Bewitched One. You are too wrapped up in your storytelling that you forget to reject the food Aradia offers you and the water because it’s been ages since you talked with anyone like this. But then you let slip tales of East Beforus. The Peach Kit. The Tale of the Bamboo Culler. The Old Man Who Made Withered Trees Blossom. The Fisherman and the Magic Turtle. You burst into tears, thinking of all the tales your mother told you.

“Damara, it’s okay…” Nepeta says.

“It is not. Okay.” You try to breathe slowly to stop crying but it doesn’t work. The tears keep coming. You sputter in English, “There would be more East Beforans. More descendants. If I hadn’t been greedy.”

Aradia slowly rises from the couch. “I’ll go get, Eridan.”

“I am fine!” you bark at her, “I am not some… pathetic weeping wreck!”

“Says the crying woman.” Aradia sighs, getting out her iHusk and walking to the hygieneblock.

You grind your teeth and wipe at your tears. You refuse to cry anymore. You didn’t cry this much when Rufioh broke up with you the first time. You’re a grown troll and still the idea of having your eggs sold off still makes your heart ache.

Nepeta touches your shoulder. “It’s okay, Damara…”

“You do not understand. What I have done.” you say. “You never can.”

Nepeta frowns. “Well, that might be true, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be here to help when you’re having a hard time. You’re not the first troll to do something she regrets.”

“You have not lived long enough. To feel how I feel. My regrets.”

“I know that, but the thing about regret, Damara, is that it will devour you if you let it.” She’s rubbing your shoulders, trying to reassure you while Aradia messages your moirail. “Look what it’s done to Kankri. It’s easy for someone to fall down and just lay there, but to pick yourself up? That takes courage.”

You wipe your eyes. “Anger. Rage. Bitter. Things I have. Courage. Something that I do not have.”

“You do have it. It’s just buried. Everyone has courage or we’d have been killed by other things a long time ago.” She says, “It takes courage to even admit you’re afraid.”

“Really now?” You look up at her, eyes still watery. “Fine. I am afraid that I will never get the image out. The image of someone eating my eggs. That image. Makes me want to scream. And bang my head against the wall. It is. Wretched.”

Nepeta swallows. “Oh.” She says in a small voice. Then, “That’s awful, Damara. But. You don’t have any happy memories to focus on instead?”

“What happiness?” You scoff. “Everything bitter. Everything wasted.”

“But you taught me this!” She holds up the sketch pad, showing you her illustrations that are only two degrees off of anatomically correct, but she’s getting closer. “I practiced all night when I left. You don’t consider this a happy memory? Remember how I drew before I had lessons with you? Why don’t you do more art? Besides sketching, when was the last time you actually drew something you liked?”

“Years.” Since Aradia was born and you culled your mother, actually.

“You must still have supplies though.”

“Paper. Canvas. No ink.” The ink you had would be dry and unusable by now.

“Do you need ink?”

“I paint East Beforan way. Blood-ink wash.” You lean back on the couch. Your tears are dried but you are tired. “No other way.”

Aradia walks back into the room. “Eridan says he’s on his way. He’s getting finished up at the doctor. Apparently it took longer than usual because he chased Sollux around the office with a speculum…”

“Sounds like something Eridan would do.” Nepeta says, smiling. “Aradia, what stores sell ink?”

“Ink? You’d have to go to an art supply store or a place that sells those.”

Nepeta smiles, “Super Wal-Mart has an art supply section. They should have ink then.”

Aradia tilts her head, “What are you getting at?”

“Ask Eridan if they can go by Super Wal-Mart since they’re already downtown and to buy some ink for Damara.” She smiles when she sees you scowl. “Now you’ll have no excuse _not_ to do it. I’ll make sure Eridan makes you work on it all night if you have to.”

You groan but there’s nothing to be done. Eridan is as stubborn as she is.

Eridan arrives a half-hour later with Sollux carrying bags of food. He says it was a mob at Super Wal-Mart (as usual), but he got the bottled Indie Ink that was on sale for buy one get one free. You sigh and realize that there is really no escaping your past after all. Eridan watches you mix up your batch of ink like mother taught you: diluting the Indie Ink with water and of course your blood.

“Why blood?” Eridan asks.

“Because painting is an extension of you, like a limb.” You say in Old Alternian. You sit on the floor, arranging your weathered brushes, pencils, salt, and your illustration board. “They are a part of you, thus the blood. The Empire made its paints with the blood of the culled so that they would have use post-life but East Beforans used the plants, the river water, and their blood to show close they were to the land. Even as my body decomposes in the earth, food for worms, I live here in the ink.”

You don’t lay down a pencil sketch; this is freeform. Nothing but smudging, strokes, and thought. You lapse into a long silence and your legs go stiff but you remain petrified, solemn as the Maiden Made Eternal as she meditated under The Tree of Life. Eridan continues watching TV as you work. Time seems to fold and hours pass like nothing.

Eridan comes back in and peeks over your shoulder. “I thought you were just doing abstract but I think I see a shape now. What is it?”

You sit back and consider the painting, the constant curves and smears. “ _Maneki-neko_. The fortune cat.”

 


End file.
